


The Burning of Sulphur (Reminds me I'm Home)

by Fizzy25



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Author is tired, Aziraphale is surprisingly confident, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Feelings, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, I am so sick of editing, I heard 'From Eden' by Hozier and went rabid, M/M, Metaphorical Sex, Minor Angst, Pining, Songfic, Tenderness, a lot of feelings, but cute angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fizzy25/pseuds/Fizzy25
Summary: Crowley wonders if this is what he was made for. If he was made to only admire Aziraphale. If every moment in his life, the stars, the fall, the apple, was only a prelude to this singular moment. He wonders if there will never be anymore to them. Crowley hopes that he will be content with this.In which Crowley is a lovesick, touched-starved occult being who is too in love with Aziraphale to do anything but stare.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	The Burning of Sulphur (Reminds me I'm Home)

It is a well known fact that demons smell of sulphur. Their skin is tainted by the corrosive poison of their fall, leaving then smelling faintly of something close to rotten eggs. Sulphur burns a temperature of 444.6ºC. It burns so hot it burns a bright blue-white light. The noise is deafening and the glow is blinding.

_Babe, there's something tragic about you_

Crowley remembers falling, remembers the bright blue that blinded him for weeks after. Crowley remembers his divine grace melting away from his soul. Leaving an array of burns and scars scattered across his skin. He remembers the heat, there was so much heat. 

Even as he fell, he remembers thanking God for making his destruction so beautiful. His anger was barely curiosity back then, so as he fell from Her, he marvelled. She did make such beautiful creations.

_Something so magic about you_

Beautiful creations like Aziraphale. Even he, a demon, the most damned and putrid creature in Her entire universe, couldn’t help but admire Aziraphale. In Crowley's not-so-humble opinion Aziraphale was God’s greatest creation. 

Aziraphale smells of nice things; of old books, fancy cologne and a little bit of her divine influence. Unlike Aziraphale Crowley smells of sulphur, fire and pain. He smells of falling.

_Don't you agree?_

Crowley often wonders what made Aziraphale even consider spending time with him. He assumes it is because Aziraphale has always had a tendency to prefer what is good over what is ‘right’. There is nothing more good than being kind to the wretched soul of a demon. 

Crowley tries not question Aziraphale’s kindness too much. But after an eternity of unanswered queries it's hard not to. Aziraphale has always sent mixed signals, Crowley has always listened. Aziraphale’s kindness is more familiar to Crowley than Hers. He often wonders if he can fall from him too.

_Babe,_

Currently they are dining at the Ritz, with one apocalypse successfully averted and their souls still perfectly intact. They are celebrating, _‘to the world’_ , Crowley does not think he could be happier, lounging in his seat, sipping champagne and watching as the man of his dreams politely demolish a dessert. If he were to freeze time[1], then he would. But Crowley is hopeful, that maybe there could be more than just this separated contentedness between them.

_There's something lonesome about you_

Crowley thinks he confesses to Aziraphale every time he speaks to him. His love is an infinite and untameable beast[2]. No matter how much he tries to control it, his love slips out through his gentle smiles and thoughtful miracles. Crowley has tried to confess[3] a total of 22 times throughout history. As far as he can tell Aziraphale only seemed to have noticed 2 of them. 

Most notably was 1941, where in Crowley saved Aziraphale from discorperation at the hands of some lousy[4] nazis. It felt like second-nature to Crowley to save Aziraphale. But ,Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and genuine as they stared at him, as if it was all a shocking revelation for him. For the first time in centuries Crowley felt hope. The next time Crowley saw Aziraphale he told Crowley that he went _too_ fast for him.

_Something so wholesome about you_

Aziraphale smiles up at him from his now empty plate of creme brûlée, “What do you say dear boy, should we pay the bill and head off, your place maybe?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle with such life that Crowley feels his lungs freeze. Love is a curse trying to kill him, and Crowley is so willing to die for the cause.

He clicks his fingers, performing a minor miracle without a second thought, "Don’t worry about it, angel,” As he speaks Crowley performs his patent nonchalant smirk[5], “It’s all covered, let’s get out of here.”

Crowley stands, Aziraphale follows. Surprisingly Aziraphale holds his arm out for Crowley to interlock with him, he obliges trying not to grin too much. They leave the Ritz, arms intertwined with each other, the rest of the world laid out around them to explore; together.

_Get closer to me_

***

The Bentley door slams shut and something in Crowley’s brain clicks, "You said my place, you know Adam fixed your bookshop right?" Crowley thinks he should probably be sounding snarky or confident, but he is too scared to even try. Everything about this is uncharted territory.

_No tired sigh, no rolling eyes_

Aziraphale's smile drops, Crowley’s heart follows . He worries suddenly that Aziraphale is going to take it all back and disappear back into the depths of his bookshop and his crippling fear of heaven's wrath. Crowley squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact. 

Crowley remembers falling. It began with a feeling like this. 

_No irony_

A hand touches his. It feels like his redemption, "Would you mind terribly dear? I wouldn't want to be a bother." 

Crowley eyes snap open, he gets lost in the most infinite blue skies of Her creation, "You aren't a bother."

"If you say so Crowley," Aziraphale continues speaking as if Crowley has not just been metaphorically brought to his knees, "I want to stay at yours. The bookshop can wait."

_No "Who cares?", no vacant stares_

Crowley gulps. He is entranced by everything about Aziraphale, "Ngk, sure. My place it is angel."

_No time for me_

Crowley slams his foot down onto the accelerator, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other trapped under the tight grip of a shocked angel. This feels more like flying than flying does. This hand covering his is freedom.

"Slow down Crowley, we have all of eternity to do what we like. There is no rush," Aziraphale's voice is shaky but earnest. Crowley considers slowing down as the 50 year old words, _'You go to fast for me, Crowley'_ , echo in his mind _,_ but he can't. He can’t waste time. He doesn't know how to explain to Aziraphale that one measly eternity isn't enough for him to spend with Aziraphale.

The streets blur around them, the only thing in focus for Crowley is Aziraphale. They pull up to the curb of Crowley's apartment complex and Crowley rushes out of the car. He has Aziraphale's door before he has even undone his seatbelt. Aziraphale exits the car with a grateful smile that leaves Crowley’s knees weak.

Crowley leads him up the stairs to his door, trying hard not to think about what any of this might mean. Crowley tries really hard.

_Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago_

Aziraphale follows behind even if he does not need guiding[6]. Aziraphale enters the apartment like this is his home too even though he has only been here once before. He stands confidently in Crowley's home. His soft curves and warm, cream monochromes contrasting with the sharp edges and cold grey tones of the sparsely filled room. Crowley doesn't know how to feel about Aziraphale's apparent and sudden comfort in Crowley's home. On one hand it makes him hopeful that maybe one day this could be their home, on the other hand, it also terrifies him. It terrifies him because hope has only ever been a bad memory for him.

 _Idealism sits in prison,_

Hope is a heavenly emotion, hope is a curse for demons like him. Then again Demons like him shouldn't be in love. Yet, here he is. Crowley is in love. It is a shackle wearing him down to the bone. Crowley is chained to Aziraphale. Aziraphale moves onwards dragging Crowley behind, innocently unaware of his power.

Aziraphale could ask to smite Crowley and Crowley knows all he'd do is request a glass of wine beforehand. 

But Aziraphale would never ask. That's why Crowley loves him.

_Chivalry fell on his sword_

Speaking of wine.

"How about a drink angel?" Crowley asks casually like he has a thousand times before. Maybe a good dose of alcohol can fix his terminal hope. 

Aziraphale smiles and Crowley thinks that no amount of hellish fire can kill the winged creature in his chest, "Oh that's so kind of you dear," Aziraphale's voice is full of so much joy that Crowley doesn't have the heart to remind him that he is _not_ 'kind', "A tea would be nice if you wouldn't mind terribly."

Crowley freezes, his eyebrows slowly creep up his forehead, "No alcohol angel? You sure you're okay?" 

Aziraphale does not look deterred and only shakes his head fondly, "I am fine, thank you. While your concern is admirable tea will do me just nicely." Crowley considers tempting him out of it but it doesn't feel worth it. 

_Innocence died screaming;_

As Crowley pours Aziraphale’s meticulously measured and memorised tea, he reminisces. Crowley remembers falling, he does not remember landing. The heat must have been too much and Crowley must have been knocked out. When he woke up, he screamed. Screamed at god in anger; screamed out to Her in desperation. Even as his lips stopped moving, dry and cracked from overuse, Crowley does not remember ever stopping screaming. 

Crowley returns to his living room and passes the tea to Aziraphale who has made himself comfortable between the sparse cushions of his couch. Crowley uses this moment to memorise as much of Aziraphale he can. He raptly studies the creases on his fingers that wrap around the mug and creases around his eyes as he sends Crowley a warm smile. Crowley drinks it all in like a dying man. 

Forget alcohol, Crowley could spend his life getting drunk off Aziraphale.

_Honey, ask me, I should know_

Everything about Aziraphale is stunning. Every second with him is a gift. Crowley is a devout follower of him. He is overwhelmed on the love and tenderness inside him. Their fingers brush slightly and Crowley wants more, and more, and more. Crowley is overflowing.

Then he pulls away. He knows he's already taken too much, moved too fast. He has to stop. Cut himself off. He can't bare to scare Aziraphale away. _Again_.

To Crowley, a life without Aziraphale is so much worse than a life without Aziraphale's love.

Carefully, he moves himself into a modern grey armchair opposite Aziraphale. Leaving enough distance between them to be amicable. Everything about this is both a blessing and pure torture.

_I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_

Crowley rests, sprawled out, watching attentively as Aziraphale happily drinks his tea. Crowley wonders if this is what he was made for. If he was made to only admire Aziraphale. If every moment in his life, the stars, the fall, the apple, was only a prelude to this singular moment. He wonders if there will never be anymore to them. Crowley hopes that he will be content with this.

***

_Babe,_

Aziraphale finishes his tea in silence. Neither of them know what to say. The world almost ended. Every ideal they once held themselves to has been abandoned. 

_There's something wretched about this_

Crowley feels sick, he is terrified. He remembers walking into the hellfire. His fire burned blue but it still reminded him of falling. It was the same action of being discarded. They had tried to _kill_ Aziraphale, and if they hadn't switched bodies he would be dead currently. 

Crowley assumes they will probably try again one day but he swears he will be there again to stop them. Aziraphale could not die. Crowley would rather fall again. 

Aziraphale looks rather content and decidedly unaffected by the whole series of events. He looks the most relaxed Crowley has ever seen him. 

Crowley likes this version of Aziraphale. No matter what the other angels say, Aziraphale could never really fall. He is the best of all of them. The kindest.

_Something so precious about this_

"Darling boy, why are you sitting so far away, come over here," Aziraphale breaks the silence with words of such casual courage, it shakes Crowley to his core. He is unable to disobey, moving his body fluidly to the spot Aziraphale motioned to next to him when he spoke.

Now they are sitting side to side, closer, but unable to see each other. Crowley is even more confused about what to say, entranced by the strength of Aziraphale's scent. He knows if he can smell Aziraphale this well from here then Aziraphale can definitely smell the sulphur still tainting his skin.

He should move away to save Aziraphale from disgust, but he can't. He doesn’t want to.

_Where to begin_

Aziraphale turns his body so he's facing Crowley. Crowley mirrors him. Their eyes lock and Crowley's mind becomes a ghost town with a sky the same stunning blue in Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale places his hand on Crowley’s knee in a light touch. Crowley decides this is how he wants to die.

_Babe, there's something broken about this_

"You know Crowley, I am ever so fond of you," Aziraphale's voice is a soft poison slowly slipping into his bloodstream and paralysing him.

Crowley stutters, "Uh, uh, ditto." _Ditto? Ditto?!?!_ Crowley thinks, _Oh please. Someone have mercy on me._

Aziraphale leans in closer, lifting his hand up to gently hold his face. Crowley can feel the creases of his hand rest perfectly around the skin on his jaw, "My dear, I fear you may misunderstand what I am trying to say," there's something in Aziraphale's eyes that makes Crowley’s heart beat faster. He fears if his heart beats any faster he will be discorporated. 

_But I might be hoping about this_

"Uh, then why don't you just tell me what you mean then, I'm not a mind reader angel." Crowley tries to sound sarcastic but it all slips away leaving his voice a breathless whisper. 

Aziraphale smiles and Crowley thinks of heaven. Crowley remembers falling and the screams that echoed in his mind since. For the first time since they began his mind goes quiet. All he can think to do is worship Aziraphale.

_Oh what a sin_

"I do believe," Aziraphale begins and Crowley's breath dances out of reach in the spaces between his speech, "I once told you you went to fast for me Crowley."

Crowley remembers that moment as vividly as he remembers falling. Remembers the subtle way the words were hidden behind an ordinarily pretentious comment on his driving. 

"Well, uh" Aziraphale continues onwards after freezing momentarily, "I think, _my dear_ , I may have finally caught up to you."

_To the strand, a picnic planned for you and me_

Crowley is overwhelmed, he has no idea what to do, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

Crowley kisses Aziraphale, and he feels the angels sing out again.

Crowley is desperate as his lips touch Aziraphale's, but Aziraphale's hand holds him in place. Leaving the shared touch tender and gentle. His entire body is on fire and once again Crowley can't help but thank God for making such beautiful things.

_A rope in hand, for your other man_

As they pull away Aziraphale’s hand drops from Crowley's cheek. It falls to Crowley’s hands still awkwardly resting in his lap. Crowley feels lost without the hand there to hold him in pace. 

"You know dear I do love you ever so dearly." Aziraphale's words completely disarm Crowley. 

"You shouldn't," Crowley speaks on instinct. His lips are still buzzing with the sensation of Aziraphale's lips. It feels holy.

Aziraphale hand gently tightens over his, "But I do, my love." 

Without a second thought, Crowley is speaking, voice rushed and panicked. "You shouldn't, Heaven, they'll kill you. They tried to kill you," Crowley's mind seemed to have run away with his mouth and gotten eloped against his will, "they tried to kill you angel. Your bookshop burnt down. I thought you were dead. I thought you died. You can't die angel. You can't die…" Crowley’s voice trails off into a mess of sobs, his head hangs tiredly in the space between them. 

Aziraphale’s hands leave Crowley’s hands. Crowley is lost without them. They return, wrapping around his back and pulling Crowley into the softness of Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley thinks he has found his home.

_To hang from a tree_

"It's okay Crowley, we're okay darling," Aziraphale's hands run up and down his spine. They wait. Crowley slowly lets his breath calm. 

Carefully Crowley untangles his body from Aziraphale’s limbs. He moves his head so he can see Aziraphale's face. It is unjudging. He does not look angelic. Lacking the necessary fire of angelic righteous anger behind his eyes. To Crowley, Aziraphale looks quiet, small and content and _oh, Crowley is in love_.

"Look at me dear," Aziraphale mutters with sympathetic plush lips, "I am perfectly fine. You see?" 

Crowley manages to nod, his voice lost in the space between their lips.

"Now darling, I would very much like to kiss you again, if you would like that?" 

Crowley has never agreed to something so quickly. He meets Aziraphale's lips without a moment of hesitation. Suddenly, nothing else matters but kissing Aziraphale.

 _Huh,_ thinks Crowley, _who knew kissing angels was such efficient anxiety relief_ [7]. 

They pull each other closer. Crowley opens his mouth slightly, allowing Aziraphale to explore the previously uncharted land behind Crowley’s lips. Everything about Aziraphale is a blessing. Crowley’s hands grip Aziraphale’s stomach like it is Crowley’s redemption.

Huh, They pull away from each other and Aziraphale sends Crowley an uncharacteristic [10] smirk. Aziraphale hands hold tightly onto his bony waist. Rubbing soft, slow circles with his thumbs under his shirt. Crowley shivers. His body is alive.

"Shall we take this to you bedroom my love," Aziraphale's voice is tender, but his innuendo is clear. 

Crowley nods and suddenly they are there [11]. Aziraphale kisses Crowley again, and again, and their world slips away.

_Honey you're familiar_

Crowley does not remember God. He knows She _must_ be real. Or else he wouldn't have fallen and the angels and demons would have nothing to fight over. He knows She is real. He does not have the luxury of being an atheist like the humans. Despite this knowledge he cannot remember her.

Crowley may have forgotten Her, but Aziraphale's fingers touching him reminds him of something like God. It glows inside him. He does not restrain it. Heaven seems convinced that chastity is the road to divinity. In Crowley's opinion, Aziraphale's hands prove that they are wrong. 

The human body is made of a thousand different parts, but today, Crowley is most thankful for nerves. Every touch sets him on fire in a way that is so exciting. He feels alive. Everything about this is new, but it feels so natural to Crowley.

_Like my mirror years ago_

Crowley does not remember what he looked like before the fall. All he can remember is the explosions of stars as he helped create the first fires of the universe. Crowley does not know his old name, but he knows heaven.

Heaven is explosions and bright lights. Heaven is Aziraphale’s hands that Crowley worships loudly. Together they build a star; it explodes. For a moment it is the brightest in their universe and Crowley is blinded by it.

_Idealism sits in prison_

Slowly their world shifts. It fits itself back into the confines of Crowley's bedroom. They stay quiet. Aziraphale hands leave Crowley and his lips place a tender kiss on his forehead.

Softly, they let their naked bodies intertwine. There is no revelation or redemption. There is only a soft shared, content sigh.

_Chivalry fell on his sword_

Crowley remembers falling, and the days that followed. He remembers making the stars through heaven's eyes. He remembers trying to confess his love and driving home alone. 

He does not remember who he was in heaven. Nor how he landed afterwards.

_Innocence died screaming_

Now though, that does not matter to him. All of it feels like ancient history to him[12]. All that matters now is Aziraphale's arms around his chest.

_Honey, ask me, I should know_

"You know I love you too, right angel?" Crowley confesses with the sudden realisation that he never replied before. 

"Yes, my dear, I know," Aziraphale sounds amused at the idea he might not have.

"And you know I'm a demon right. One of the unforgivable fallen angels," Crowley tries to put malice into his voice but he it all feels too sincere. 

"Yes my dear boy, I know you are a demon. I've known you for over 6000 years Crowley." _Oh, so he's being snarky now. That bastard,_ thinks Crowley.

He considers rolling over to face Aziraphale, but he is too comfortable, "No, I mean, you understand that I can never become an angel, there is no redemption for me Aziraphale."

Aziraphale sighs, exasperated, "I know that Crowley. I don't think you need to be forgiven. I love you just as you are," Crowley's heart skips a beat and he opens his mouth to dispute him but Aziraphale does not let him, "Now hush dear, you're ruining the peace and quiet

Crowley smiles, too content to continue the banter. 

_I slithered here from Eden_

Crowley feels safe curled up in Aziraphale’s arms. He doesn't think about anything except how comfortable he is. Nothing else matters. Everything before is just a precursor to this moment to him. everything makes sense to Crowley momentarily. This is where he was made to be.

_Just to sit outside your door_

**Author's Note:**

> Crack headcanon: The ineffable plan is just god’s long convoluted attempt to make Aziraphale and Crowley finally get together.
> 
> 1. Again.[return to text]
> 
> 2. Like him.[return to text]
> 
> 3. In his own way[return to text]
> 
> 4.and rather incompetent[return to text]
> 
> 5. which ironically is so well practised and planned that it can no longer be classified as ‘nonchalant’ [return to text]
> 
> 6. very secretly admiring That Ass™[return to text]
> 
> 7. in fact kissing angels has recommended by 9 out of 10 doctors as a method of stress relief. 1 out of the 10 doctors was a little bitch[8].
> 
> 8.And was also Gabriel in disguise; who as we all know, prefers kissing demons[9].
> 
> 9. specifically Beelzebub.[return to text]
> 
> 10. and surprisingly demonic[return to text]
> 
> 11. They both assume it was the other who miracled them there, in fact it was God herself in sheer excitement that the two had finally managed to get their shit together.[return to text]
> 
> 12. most of it is [return to text]
> 
>   
> First finished fic. Kudos and comments mean the literal world to my self-confidence, thanks.


End file.
